Like a moth to a flame. Going to do it anyway.

photo credit: Mental Floss

So, I’m going to finish my second half marathon next month.  I say “finish” because I don’t know how much running will actually happen.

Last year, I finished my first half.  It was miserable.  I was suffering from a seriously painful bout of plantar faciitis that caused me to walk all but four miles of the course.  The finish line and the chocolate milk that followed were the best parts of the whole experience.

This year, my goal was to get to the race and finish healthy.  And, by all accounts, I am.  But it’s probably because I haven’t run that much this year.   I started training in April, but the regimen quickly waned and lately, I’ve been going two, three weeks in between runs.  Ugh.  Thirty pounds heavier than last year.  Weaker than the Mexican peso.  Yet, for some irrational reason, I think I’m going to finish 13.1.  Of course, I’ll finish.  I have to get back to my car, right?

Back in April, my goal was to maintain a 15 min mile for this race and finish in three hours.  I still have not figured out how to do that.  I had a long discussion with myself last weekend and came to peace with the reality that mine will be last name on the finisher roster.   Last year, I was the third from the last person to finish the half and it nearly killed me emotionally.   All that training, all that suffering, all that everything and I was third from last?!  I cried for two hours after I saw the results.  I’ll probably cry this year too, knowing that I should have/could have been better. The whole “at least you did it” thing isn’t a source of comfort for me.  When I set out to do something, I want to do it well. And I will feel a bit defeated when all of my co-workers and friends finish with better times than me.  But, at least I know all of this going in.

Today was the last “switch” day for the event; when you can opt for a shorter or longer race.  I thought very seriously about dropping to the 5k.  But, I *know* I can do the 5k.  There’s no real sense of accomplishment there.  Even if I end up walking all but four miles again in the half, and I’m the last one in, I will feel, for a moment, that I’ve accomplished something.   That moment, however fleeting, is the flame to my moth.  I’m drawn to it, called by it, even though I know, ZAP!

Live. Laugh. Love.


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